"I'm pleased to see you, too, Sir Harry. I hear you've joined the Club."
"Surelye—as a real farmer ought to say; and so has my son Martin—he's going to do most of the work. Martin, you've never met Miss Godden. Let me introduce you."
Joanna's welcoming grin broke itself on the young man's stiff bow. There was a moment's silence.
"He doesn't look as if a London doctor had threatened him with consumption," said the Squire banteringly. "Sometimes I really don't, think I believe it—I think he's only come down here so as he can look after me."
Martin made some conventional remark. He was a tall, broadly built young man, with a dark healthy skin and that generally robust air which sometimes accompanies extreme delicacy in men.
"The doctor says he's been overworking," continued his father, "and that he ought to try a year's outdoor life and sea air. If you ask me, I should say he's overdone a good many things besides work—" he threw the boy a defiant, malicious glance, rather like a child who gets a thrust into an elder—"but Walland Marsh is as good a cure for over-play as for over-work. Not much to keep him up late hereabouts, is there, Miss Godden?"
"I reckon it'll be twelve o'clock before any of us see our pillows to-night," said Joanna.
"Tut! Tut I What terrible ways we're getting into, just when I'm proposing the place as a rest-cure. How do you feel, Miss Godden, being the only woman guest?"
"I like it."
"Bet you do—so do we."